


The Scarlette Moriarty Stories

by Lady Gwenna (Starlight_Thoughts)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlight_Thoughts/pseuds/Lady%20Gwenna
Summary: Time passes and life moves on. But people don't. A ring on a chain around a girl's neck. A million reasons it shouldn't be there. Stubborn determination that it will be.





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Let's try Sherlock on for size. And writing straight romance. That'll be new, yeah? Also feedback would be lovely, as I'm pretty sure my writing skills have decreased since the last time I posted anything, and I want to get back to where I was. Feel free to criticize as you'd like. Also, this starts during season 3.

If someone would have told her, back when she was 15 and first met Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, that everything would have turned out this way, she might have run in the other direction as fast as she could. These were not boys to be toyed with; they were intelligent to the point of dangerous. She of all people should know, as her brother was a charismatic nightmare. So yeah, she might have run away. More likely, she would have run right into Sherlock’s arms like they were where she belonged. It’s what she did the first time, and dear God, was he worth it. He would always be worth it.

* * *

Scarlette was used to watching from a distance at this point. Watching him age and move on without her. Watching him figure out his place in the world without her. The idea that she should have been there with him was as ever-present as the diamond ring resting on her collarbone. Over a decade had passed since it last rest on her finger, and many a lover had commented on it, though a sharp glare ceased most questions quickly enough. Mycroft had wanted to take it from her originally. 

_She stood in front of his desk, eyes meeting his. It was hard to be intimidated by a man after catching him being yelled at by his mother. At least this time he had the good sense to look ashamed._

_“I truly am sorry, my dear, but I’m sure you understand.” Mycroft Holmes did not speak kindly to people. He was always brief and cold. Overly emotional language was something Scarlette had seen him roll his eyes at many times. And he did not apologize to anyone. Ever._

_“Understand. Of course I understand. Crazy genius brothers who would destroy each other if they ever met. Yeah, I get it,” she said, watching his fingers tense slightly. She was angry and emotional and he could deal with it. She was still doing as he asked, despite it all. Her own fingers were toying with the ring on her left hand, a habit that took only a few minutes to develop after it was put there._

_It had been said, many times, that Mycroft did not have a heart. In most cases, this was true. Individual people did not matter to him. At best they were merely stupid, at worst distractions from the much more important task of keeping the majority of them at least passably safe. This girl was not most cases. His little brother’s chosen companion. Moderately clever, loyal. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect what she loved. He liked this girl._

_“Sentiment is often kept in the form of physical objects. It might be easier if you relinquished that to me for the time being,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle. He found it came surprisingly easy when he actually meant it._

_She let herself look at the ring. Before it had been slid onto her finger, she had thought she wanted something simple, understated. She hadn’t wanted dramatic‒wasn’t one outlandish child enough for any parents—until she saw it resting on her hand. The Holmes boys always did have a sense of humor, at least hers did. The diamond itself wasn’t anything too special, more of a gentle nod to tradition than the focal point of the ring, but the band was covered in sapphires so blue if you stared at them long enough it felt like you were falling into nothingness. She loved it instantly and loved how well he knew her. Not one for dramatic. Yeah, right._

_“No,” she whispered, “don’t make me. Please.”_

_If she had screamed and shouted, he would have been able to insist that she hand it over. His brother had published a picture of it in as many newspapers as he could the moment she had said yes. It would be too easy for anyone with half a brain to realize who it came from. But he had prepared for her to fight back. He was not prepared for her to beg. He found himself letting out a sigh and opening a drawer in his desk few would have believed was there. He pulled out a simple gold chain necklace.  It had belonged to his grandmother, and he could not bear to part with it until now, though she didn’t need to know that.The wood of his chair creaked as he stood and walked over to her._

_“May I?” He asked, holding out his hand. She gently twisted the ring off her finger, hesitated for just a moment before she placed it in his palm. He spoke as he brought it closer to his face._ _“It’s still strange to think that my brother chose this. It is beautiful, the foolish romantic child.” Scarlette glared up at him, to which he rolled his eyes. “Still, it would be a shame to hide it away from the world,” he said as he let it slide onto the chain._

_Mycroft Holmes was not a kind man, but nor was he needlessly cruel, she thought as he placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her gently. He fastened the necklace behind her. Her fingers found the ring in seconds as her eyes found his once again._

_“Perhaps one day, when all this is over, you may wear it again. Until then, sister mine, back to business?”_  
  
A smile found its way onto her face, thinking back. But now was not the time for smiles and it was not the time for watching. The man she loved was laying in the hospital of a gunshot wound given by one of her closest friends. She was angry and emotional and did not care who had to deal with it. Her feet tapped to the beat of the music in the elevator as she waited for the door to open. When it did, she walked right up to Mycroft and tugged on his sleeve, as she had when they were kids. 

“My dear, why are you here?” For once, he could not hide his shock. Mary glanced in her direction but did not dare to meet her eyes. John looked at her in confusion, the only one in the room who did not know who she was 

“Let me see him.” It was a simple sentence, but one that hardened his gaze. 

“No.” was all that he said. She tilted her head and moved. Had John not witnessed it, he would not have believed how fast Mycroft reacted in that moment, because Scarlette’s hand was on the knob and Mycroft’s umbrella was lying on her wrist.

“Let. Me. See. Him.” John took a moment to really look at this girl who was facing down one of the most dangerous men in the world like it was nothing. She was pretty enough, he supposed, though not someone who would have caught his eye. Brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and choppy bangs. She was shorter than Mary, though not by much. 

“Have you not learned your lesson, my dear?” Mycroft said. Scarlette rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, keep pretending you don't care. But look around you. No one here believes it. Now, I'm getting in that room one way or another and we both know it.”

“I'm sorry, but who the hell are you,” John asked, reminding Mycroft that his brother's friend was there. In the corner of his eye, he saw Scarlette grin. He let out a sign. 

“ I suppose introductions are in order. Dr. John Watson, this is Scarlette Moriarty. She's an old friend of Sherlock's.” The moment he said her last name, John moved in front of the door. 

“If you think I'm letting anyone with that name near him you're just stupid,” he spat out. Scarlette sighed. 

“Yes, yes, I'm sure my brother traumatized you and all that. But he's dead. I held his husband as he cried then killed him myself, which fucking sucked by the way. I've officially no family left, in the name of protecting Sherlock Holmes.” 

“No one has hurt him more than you, my dear.” Mycroft felt the need to add. 

“Pot, meet kettle. I left on your orders. Now, Dr. Watson, please let me in before I cause significant damage to this facility.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife sigh. If he didn’t know better he’d say that Mary knew the woman trying to break into his best friend’s hospital room. 

“She is being quite serious, I’m afraid. Step aside. I don’t have the time to deal with fixing this if her anger goes unchecked. He will want to see her if that matters to you at all.” Though it was all said with the same monotone voice Mycroft said everything in, it was almost as though he was defeated. Scarlette smiled at him. 

“Thank you, dear. John?” He was tense, though that was fair enough. He didn’t know her and his best friend had almost died. Again. Scarlette watched as Mary grabbed her husband’s wrist and pulled him to the side. She reached once more for the door handle. 

“Ring,” Mycroft said, drawing John’s attention once more. 

“What? What ring?” Scarlette looked down at the floor, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt. 

“This ring.” She said, meeting Mary’s eyes for the first time. If she had been paying attention, she would have seen John frantically try to put together the pieces. She would have seen him flailing his arms around in thought and how his face changed from angry to confused to shock in a matter of seconds. And she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. But it wasn’t John that she was paying attention to. Mary smiled slightly at her. Then took a step back, realizing what it was that she had done. 

“Oh, Scarlette. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” She said. 

“I’m sure,” Scarlette said, slipping the ring off the chain and onto her finger. It still looked as at home there as it did years ago. 

“She’s wearing an engagement ring. She’s wearing an engagement ring going to see Sherlock Holmes. A ring Mycroft knew about…” was all she heard as she opened the door to the room.   
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Scarlette learned from a very young age that she did not play nice with others. She was a quiet, introverted girl who, when left alone, was perfectly well behaved. It turned out that when other people got involved, she did not like it.  She can distinctly remember being 5 years old and smacking the man laying on the bed in front of her the first time he tried talking to her and then punching his brother when he came to make her apologize. But she did not say sorry, and the younger Holmes brother was always a stubborn little shit and he tried again.  And again. And again. Until finally one day her mother saw that Violet Holmes's brilliant son was hanging around her daughter and she insisted that Scarlette be nice and _just talk to him, Scar, please. He just wants to be your friend._ Scarlette had little interest in friends, but she did love to see her mother smile. She hadn't smiled much since father went away. So Scarlette tried to curb her annoyance with being bothered the next time William came over to her at the park and didn't hit him. She didn't talk, either, but that was the first time that she saw him smile. She watched as he ran up to his older brother, proclaiming to the world that he had gotten her to like him. The older brother looked back at her and tilted his head to the side. It made her skin crawl a little bit, having that much attention on her without William's constant chattering. Their eyes met, and somehow, she stood her ground and didn't blink first. She's still proud of that fact.

 

"Still lost in your head, I see," Sherlock said, startling her.

 

"What, oh, yes," she said. She wasn't sure where the ineloquence came from. God, if her brother could have heard that, he would have shot her himself. Mycroft didn't phase her in the least, but the less influential brother was leaving her speechless? Pathetic, and probably because, while she had lived with Mycroft, she hadn't been engaged to him. Her eyes were on the white tiles beneath her feet and the ring on her finger kept coming into view despite her trying not to see it. Why had she even put it on?

 

"How did John react?" Once again, it was Sherlock's voice that dragged her back to reality. She let her eyes drift upwards at him.

 

"To me? Perfectly fine until he learned my name and saw this," she said, raising her hand up a fraction. She saw him tense a bit, though she was looking for it, hoping for it, even.

 

"Yes, well, your brother did have a bomb strapped to his chest and had me jump off a building in front of him. He is quite protective."

 

"I'm aware, thanks. Mycroft has kept me up to date, you know." That was better, snarky and sarcastic. At least it hid the nerves a bit.

 

"Oh yes, I'm sure. Though that does beg the question of where the hell you've been through this all,"  he said calmly. Holmes boys, they were going to be the death of her.

 

"As far away from you and my brother as I could stand to be. Working for your brother here and there, when he needed someone he could trust," she said, looking him in the eye.

 

"Was I some kind of joke to you, then?" His voice was quiet and subdued and her breath caught.

 

"Excuse me?" He struggled to sit up, the bullet wound making it painful.

 

"You vanished, two weeks after I proposed; after you agreed to marry me. You tell me that my brother trusts you. You and your brother are just the same, using pretty, clever women to shatter us," he said, still quiet.

 

This was not how she was expecting this to go, though, thinking on it, she wasn't sure what she was expecting.

 

"I am not my brother, William," she said. She rarely used his first name, as she much preferred his middle name. It suited him better, she thought. She went to sit down in the chair by the hospital bed. It was going to be a long conversation, and it wasn't like he was in any condition to be able to hurt her. Not that she thought he actually would, but then again, she also knew that he was capable of a lot of things that others might not expect from him. His head tilted to the side in thought.

 

"No, of course not. You're a lot more dangerous. You succeeded where he had failed. What was it that he said again, he'd--"

 

"Burn the heart out of you," Scarlette interrupted, "I was there, Sherlock, I know what he said, I know what he wanted to do. I know what I did. More importantly, I know why. But if you're going to act the child, I won't tell you," she finished, folding her hands into her lap. She'd spent entirely too many years living with Mycroft to attempt to explain herself to a Holmes brother when he was emotionally overwhelmed. She'd wait until he was willing to listen. He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers in that way that John hated and didn't say a word. They could both hear Mycroft and John bickering in the background. Poor boys, both so worried for this man's safety and unable to articulate it.

 

The relative silence went on for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Scarlette had always wished that she could dance in that mind palace of his. It had to be beautiful, whatever images flashed before his eyes when he was thinking. She'd asked him to describe it to her before, but he never did; always said he couldn't find the words. She looked around the simple room instead, at the nearly pristine whiteness of it all, from the walls and floor tiles to the sheets and pillow on the bed. It made her uneasy. Perfection usually did, she had found. Minimalism was not her forte, and most of the clutter around Mycroft's large home was her influence. The only saving grace in the room were some yellow flowers on the bedside table, clearly from one Molly Hooper.

 

"Tell me," he whispered, eyes still closed. "Tell me why." Her eyes snapped to him.

 

"Why what? Why I left, why I’m here now? Be more specific if you want satisfactory answers,” she said. It wasn’t right to tease him like that, but it had been so long since they had played this game. Though the smirk that graced his lips told her it was probably worth it.

 

“Tell me why you still have the ring. I’m sure brother dearest would have confiscated it one way or another.” Scarlette laughed. She couldn’t help it, it bubbled out of her forcefully. That was not what she had been expecting him to ask.

 

“Like hell was he getting it. He knows a lost cause when he sees one,” she said when the laughter subsided. That was when he smiled, and she stopped breathing for a second. This, this was what she had been missing. His smile, his approval. Him. And then the smile dropped.

 

“You didn’t go to my funeral,” he said. She shook her head.

 

“You don’t have many friends, and none of them at the time knew me. They would have asked questions. Also, I knew you weren’t dead. If it makes you feel better, I did throw a fit and destroy a very large portion of Mycroft’s gardens.” He hummed gently.

 

“How involved with Mori--Jim’s--plans were you?” She ran her fingers through the underside of her bangs and sighed. “Very, then. Why?” His voice wasn’t cold, just curious.

 

“He’s my brother. If I wasn’t, it would have meant questions. And I had to know what was going on. Knowing what was going on meant knowing that you could save yourself,” she answered. She watched as his eyes drifted over her body. What he was looking for, she didn’t know.

 

“The Woman?” She rolled her eyes before she could catch herself. He chuckled a bit, which made her do it again.

 

“Alive, last I checked. Overstepped her place, but Jimmy was fond of her. She’s good at getting information. Clever, unnerving you, however much it irritated me.”  If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would have missed the blush on his cheeks.

 

“How much longer were you planning on making me wait?” She felt her body react before she could have a coherent thought. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes blinked too many times in a second and they began to hurt; her pulse increased rapidly and she was suddenly very grateful that it was not her attached to all the monitors.  

 

“Wait? What?” It wasn’t her best phrasing, but it was what she could manage and it did get the point across.

 

“You still wear the engagement ring I gave you over a decade ago. You were jealous, though I assure you, you have no reason to be. My brother seems to think that I’ll forgive you eventually, or is at least hoping for it.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as though all these facts were obvious and lead to only one conclusion.

 

“No, still confused. Explain.” Old phrasing in a very new situation. This time, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“Do I really need to ask again, Scarlette? Mother isn’t here this time, and I don’t think that she’d appreciate it.” Oh. _Oh._

 

“It’s been years,” she said, “what if it doesn’t work anymore?” The look on his face as she said that reminded her of the little boy that she had rejected as a child.

 

“I’ve been told that feelings do fade over time, and I suppose that people could continue to wear jewelry out of habit rather than sentiment--”

 

“And you’re rambling which means you’re nervous. The damn girl actually threatened Mycroft and I to get in here. I don’t think that it’s her feelings she’s worried about,” John said, gaining both of their attention in an instant. Neither of them had noticed the door open, or him stepping inside. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. Mary stood outside, looking in with concern on her face. Scarlette would deal with her later.

 

"Eavesdropping now, John?" That, that was amusement in his voice, Scarlette noticed. Sherlock wasn't mad at John for bursting in uninvited. He wasn't even annoyed. She knew that Sherlock loved him, but perhaps she hadn't realized exactly how much.

 

"Not every day that someone says that they are a friend of yours. And a Moriarty at that. Can you blame me for being cautious?" And there was the reciprocal emotion. It was good, seeing him with the people who cared about him, the people he allowed to care about him. Though now she was getting annoyed. She never had reacted well to being doubted, not when there were others who deserved it much more. She was on her feet before she knew it.

 

"Scarlette, do sit down. Clever girl, though. Figured it out, did you?" She glared and he smirked and John looked everywhere but at his best friend who was apparently much better at romance than he thought.

 

"I've been bored. Normal life is a bit underwhelming after you help take down one of the largest international criminal webs."

 

"You had nothing to do with that.

 

"Wanna bet? Who do you think people came to after my brother shot himself in the head? His equally clever, but much more hands-on little sister? Not every mention of my last name was my brother, you know." It was she who smirked this time. He had no idea what all she had done, though it seemed that he was piecing it together.

 

"The cabbie. That was you," John said. She nodded.

 

"My brother wanted Sherlock's attention and charged me with getting it. I kept the damage to a minimum, and Mycroft knew what I was doing every step of the way. You, however, threw a bit of a curveball my way. Thank you for cleaning up for me, though." Scarlette was pointedly not looking at the bed. He was probably the only one in the room that had not killed someone. She wondered how long that shred of innocence would last.

 

"You're welcome, I guess. How the hell did you two even meet, and why the fuck wasn't I told about your existence?" She saw Sherlock roll his eyes.

 

"It's not important. I've probably forgotten it," he said, pushing the words out in a rush. Scarlette started to laugh. Sherlock ran a hand through his curls and sighed. "Go on, then, if you must. You tell him since you find it so funny." She shook her head, brown hair hitting her shoulders gently as she did so.

 

“Oh, he’d never believe me. You as a child, Sherlock, they’d never understand,” she said with a smile.

 

“Marry him, Scarlette,” Mary said from just outside the door. No one was expecting her to speak, as she had been silent through the whole conversation. Scarlette felt the muscles in her body tighten at the sound of her voice. She let out a breath and fell back into the chair at Sherlock’s side.

 

“Planning on it. Since I was 18, at that. Now, as much I want to get to know the man that dragged Sherlock back to sanity after I left, get out. This is not a conversation for an audience.” John gave her a look that she wasn’t sure how to read, but he listened and walked out, closing the door behind him. It was quiet for a moment.

 

“Should I inform my mother that there’s to be a wedding?” The smile that she saw on his lips was small, and hopeful, and she wanted to kiss it. She’d had that thought a hundred million times since the last time that he had seen her, but now she could act on it. She stood up and grabbed his hand. It was larger than she remembered, but that was okay. He laced their fingers together, slowly. She felt herself grin as his other hand came to cradle her neck.

 

“So we’re still letting her have her fun, then?” That was when he pulled her down and kissed her for the first time in 15 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, new chapter. Kind of fun to write this. I'm bad at writing characters doing things instead of saying things, can you tell?


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